CONGRATULATIONS TO DOCTOR AND MRS. TOM WHITMAN
Tom and Rebecca cut the cake, then fed each other a piece, then Maria began serving the others.
“Hold off on that punch,” one of the cowboys called. “I want to see Dalton drink from it first.”
Those who knew of Dalton’s “joke” at the town dance last summer laughed, then explained to the others what it was about. Laughing, Dalton strode over to the punch bowl, poured himself a cup, drank it, then held the empty cup.
“Delicious!” he shouted.
As the reception continued, many of the guests came by to talk to the guests of honor.
“I have to tell you, Tom, that when you first showed up, I didn’t have any idea what kind of cowboy you would be,” Big Ben said. “But you turned out to be as good as any cowhand I’ve ever been around, and I’ve been around some good ones, including Dusty. So if you ever get tired of being a doctor and want to ranch again, you will always be welcome at Live Oaks.”
“I wish Dusty and Mo could have been here for this,” Rebecca said. “Dusty was here from the time I was a very young girl. He was something special.”
“Mo was too,” Dalton said. “I guess you could say that Mo was my best friend.”
“Let’s have a drink to them,” Clay said. “Wait, I’ll get ever yone’s attention, and we’ll all drink to them.”
Clay whistled loudly, and all conversation and laughter stopped as everyone looked over to see what it was about.
“Ladies and gents,” Clay said. “As most of you know, we lost two good men bringing the cattle down from Dodge. I’m talking about Dusty McNally and Mo Coffey. I know they would have given anything in the world to be here now, and see these two get married. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like you all to raise your cups so we could have a drink to them. Then maybe, take just a minute to think about them.
Everyone raised their cups.
“To Dusty and Mo,” Clay said.
“To Dusty and Mo,” the others repeated, as one.
From the back of the room, Duff began to play Amazing Grace. The first sound was from the drones, then, fingering the chanter, Duff began playing the haunting tune, the steady hum of the drones providing a mournful sound to underscore the high skir-ling of the melody itself. It was so beautifully played that it took on the aura of a prayer, and when he finished, Father Sharkey, the Episcopal priest who had performed the wedding ceremony said, “Amen.”
“Amen,” the others said.
Awhile later, Dr. Thomas Doyle Whitman, Tom’s father, came over to talk to the bride and groom.
“You’re sure now, Tom, that you don’t want to come back to Boston to practice? I know the chief of surgeons at Mass General and I’m pretty sure I can get your old position back.”
Tom laughed. “Since you are the chief of surgeons there, I’m sure you can,” he said. “But I like it here, in Fort Worth. I only hung out my shingle two months ago, and already I have built up a pretty good practice.”
“But, son, Texas? You are giving up Boston for Texas?”
Tom recalled something that someone had told him on the train, the first day he came in to Texas.
“Well, Mister, I’ll tell you true, you ain’t goin’ to find any place better than Texas. And any place in Texas you decide to stop, is better than any place else.”
“What?” his father asked, confused by the response.
Tom put his arm around Rebecca and pulled her closer to him. “This is where I want to be, Dad. And this is where I intend to stay.”
The elder Dr. Whitman chuckled, and shook his head. “Then I won’t try and talk you out of it,” he said. “But when the children start coming, you won’t forget about your mother and me up in Boston, will you?”
“I won’t let him forget—Dad,” Rebecca said.
“I saw the baby you delivered in the barn on Christmas Eve,” Tom’s mother said. “What a beautiful child he is.”
“It wasn’t Christmas Eve, it was Christmas morning,” Rebecca corrected. “Emanuel is a true Christmas gift.”
“I’m proud of you son. I don’t know of another surgeon in the country who could have done that.”
“I had help,” Tom said.
“I know, you had Rebecca and the others with you.”
“No,” Tom said. He pointed up. “When I say I had help, I mean I had help.”
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2011 William W. Johnstone
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-2909-9
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